estled between the Nanay and Amazon rivers in northern Peru, Iquitos has all the frenetic energy hallmark of any bustling port town. A thick patina of untold generations of paint, dust and moto-taxi exhaust mantle everything stationary. As you walk the streets you see the jungle attempt to defiantly reclaim what was lost in every crack of the sidewalk or vacant building. Life finds a way. But the city has its own rhythm - one that might appear chaotic to the uninitiated. However, stare long enough and you’ll get a sense of the steps. You may even find the dance to be sumptuous and inviting.
Children running through the alleys of Mercado Belén, the roaring deluge of Honda motorcycles at every hour, hustlers and bustlers of every order, the smell of sun-ripened pineapple and gasoline and sweat. It is as alive as the jungle it was built upon, and good enough to sink one’s teeth into and smile as it drips down the chin.
My flirtation lasted only a few days, but I’ll be thinking about Iquitos for the rest of my life.
These are those photos.